I’m going to be a first-time grandma in May! I’ve been looking forward to this for a long time. It’s the reason we are planning to leave Arizona and move to Washington state next summer. I am both excited beyond belief and insecure beyond reason. Holding my own son’s own child in my arms will be precious, life altering. I’m told that being part of a grandchild’s life is even better than motherhood. Yet, I will be 61 years-old by May. Am I too old to just be starting grandmother-hood?
My own mother was a very young grandma, just 45 when our oldest son was born. She set a great example of (among other things) being physically active with her grandkids, and it’s long been my goal to remain healthy enough to “hike with my grandkids.” However, I recently tore a meniscus in my left knee and have struggled to walk on level surfaces much less hike. Couple that with a little anxiety because my daughter-in-law has three older sisters with kids and a mother with over 20 years of grandma experience. Yes, I know, the sweet child hasn’t even been born yet, but logic has not kept me from looking ahead to figure out my place, to contemplate my “grandma identity.” What kind of grandma do I want to be? What kind of grandma am I capable of being?
My own Grandma Helen wasn’t technically my grandma. When my mom was 6, her mother died of leukemia. She ran away from home at 11 and lived with her older sister first, but then moved in with Helen (her mom’s sister) and Howard (Buppa to us) until she married my dad. Helen and Buppa were my grandparents, and Helen was the best!
Helen was the best cook. My brother’s favorite was her chocolate cake with chocolate frosting. My sister’s favorite was her lemon meringue pie. For me, it was her potato salad and homemade Polish dumplings. Helen cooked everything better than anyone else, and she cooked multi-course meals every holiday. She is why Thanksgiving is still my favorite holiday. But she did not like picking all the turkey off the bones, so their good friend Doc came over the day after Thanksgiving every year to collect the turkey bones for his soup.
Helen was the best babysitter. We loved playing card games and rolling dice with her. King's Corners was my favorite. But the most exciting part was that she would give us each two tiny sips of beer in our cups. She had chocolate brown Melmac teacups; the bottom was just about an inch in diameter. The beer barely covered the bottom and more of it wet our lips than went down our throats. My brother and sister and I thought we had the world by the tail, and we made that beer last for hours! Yes, I know, it sounds inappropriate for a grandma to serve beer to her grandkids. In her defense, it was a different time and a different place - early 1970s in Wisconsin, the Beer Capitol of the World.
Helen was the best back-writer. I don’t remember how it started, but we would jockey for position so she could write letters on our backs with her finger. We had to pay attention and guess the letter, one at a time, slowly. Very slowly. The letters added up to words or even sentences. If she made a mistake or if we struggled to decipher a letter, she would (again slowly) wipe her whole hand across our back as if to erase what she had written. It was oddly comforting.
Helen was the best prognosticator. When our mom would run into Piggly Wiggly for a few groceries, she would leave us in the car with Helen. From the moment our mom disappeared into the store, Helen would spin a (very slow) story about where Mom was in the store and what she was doing. And she always, always accurately predicted when Mom would walk back out! “Now she’s walking down the aisle towards the bread… she’s almost there… now she’s putting the bread into her cart. Now she’s heading towards the bananas… she’s chosen a bunch… she doesn’t like how they look. She’s putting the bananas back… she’s picked up a new bunch… Ok, she’s putting those into the cart. Now she’s walking toward the milk… Oh, she has run into someone she knows… she’s still chatting. Ok, now she’s at the milk case… she has put the milk into her cart…. she’s headed towards the checkout. She’s paying with her tip money… she’s heading towards the doors…,” and there Mom would be, walking out the doors, crossing the parking lot toward us. It was oddly comforting.
Helen was the best at making us each feel special. To this day, my brother claims he was her favorite. My sister insists that it was her. But I know it was me all along! Despite that, she never got our names right on the first try, or anyone else’s either. She always had to go through about three names before she got the right one, and we would all laugh and tease her. She always laughed at herself right along with us.
Helen was the best good sport. We used to play the board game "Family Feud" at family get-togethers. Helen loved Richard Dawson; she called him "Kissy-Kissy". When it was Helen's turn, she usually had an answer (and a good one at that) on the tip of her tongue that she couldn't quite remember. Her trick to jog her memory was to go through the alphabet, one letter at a time (A… B… C … ) slowly of course, with a short pause after each letter. She eventually hit upon the letter that her answer began with, and it did jog her memory, but usually her time to answer the question would have run out. We would all laugh and tease her, and she always laughed at herself right along with us. But I go through the alphabet often nowadays when I'm trying to remember something. Try it the next time you are at a loss for the name of a song, or the name of a place you once visited, or even the name of your own grandchild!
Helen was the best advice giver. If we complained about something, she would say, “It’s better than a slap in the face with a dead fish.” If she caught us crying about something, she would say, “Go ahead, cry. The more you cry, the less you pee.” If our mom apologized because we were making too much noise, she would say, “I don’t mind the noise. It will be quiet when I’m dead.” Sometimes she would give similar advice to someone who said they were tired. “You can sleep when you’re dead.” Another frequent admonition was, “Drive safe.” I still drive safe to this day and tell everyone else to drive safe too. But Helen’s ultimate advice was, “It’s a great life, if you don’t weaken.” Lots of people say, “It’s a great life,” but I’ve only known one person outside of family that added the “if you don’t weaken” part, and I still remember exactly where we were the first time I heard my friend say it.
Time passes in the blink of an eye. Things change, life goes on. Helen died over 30 years ago, but she remains a family icon. We all still talk about her. We all still think about her. I think about her when I look at her picture on my refrigerator. I think about her in her kitchen, wearing one of her signature dresses (usually paisley), singing softly and slowly in a high-pitched voice while cooking up a storm. I think about sitting in her backyard watching fireworks, with ash falling around us; the 4th of July hasn’t been the same since. I think about her telling us kids all the time how lucky we were to have such a wonderful mother. I think about her telling me all the time how lucky I was to have such wonderful skin. I think about walking with her to the corner grocery store, Gollner’s, or over the railroad tracks in the opposite direction to get twist ice cream cones. And I think about her Metamucil bottle on the whirly-gig in the bottom cupboard.
It’s a lot to think about, but I still have some time to figure it out. No doubt I eventually will. And I could do a lot worse than having Helen as my role model. I think I’ll go online and order a set of chocolate brown Melmac teacups. Yes, I know, the excitement at the bottom of my set of grandma teacups will most likely be root beer, but that’s better than a slap in the face with a dead fish. Oh, it’s going to be a great life with my grandchild, if I don’t weaken!
I’d love to hear your thoughts. What is your favorite memory of your grandma? What’s been your experience of being a grandparent? Do you have any hard-earned advice to offer?
Thanks for passing Just a Blink of your time with me!
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Respectful comments are welcome. Let’s inspire each other with a little wisdom and a lot of humor, patience, and kindness.
Hi Cherie,
I became a first time grandfather a year ago, a few months before I turned 61. You have such an awesome role model in Helen (what a great and loving post) that I have zero doubt that grandparent awesomeness has become part of you.
I wrote a post when I became a grandfather and it links to a post I wrote about beingan expectant grandfather. I thought you might enjoy them.
https://robertsdavidn.substack.com/p/expectant-grandfather-actual-grandfather
I love how much of your grandmother you conveyed with her words. And that pillowcase - a treasure! Both of my grandfathers died young, so I only knew my grandmothers as highly independent women taking care of themselves. Only later did I realize the impact of that. Wishing you much joy in the spring!